


knowing things

by whitchry9



Series: my name is connor, i'm the autistic sent by cyberlife [4]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Autistic Character, Autistic Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Deviancy (Detroit: Become Human), Disney Movies, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Post-Canon, Stimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 11:13:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15629538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/pseuds/whitchry9
Summary: Hank didn't think androids could be autistic until he basically adopted one who was.





	knowing things

**Author's Note:**

> timeline wise, this probably takes place before all the other fics in this series.
> 
>  
> 
> thank you to the anon who requested this on tumblr, because it was a very good idea.

Hank knew some things.

 

He knew how to solve crimes. He knew which bars wouldn’t kick him out if he drank too much, but would call him one of those driverless cabs so he didn’t drive home. He knew the best spots to take Sumo on his walks. He knew that Pedro was wrong more than he was right, but on those occasions he was right, it always paid off. He knew that paper books were better than digital copies and also took up space in his house that always seemed too empty now. He knew every song that Knights of the Black Death had released, and could probably identify all of them within the first few bars. He knew that winters in Detroit were hell and that by February, everyone hated the snow and cold, but they’d also be complaining during the summer when it was hot. He knew the best takeout that could deliver to his place in under thirty minutes. He knew that birds weren’t to be trusted.

He knew what autism looked like.

 

He’d also learned a lot of things in recent months, when he thought that he wouldn’t be doing much of that. (He sort of thought that he wouldn’t be doing much of anything, that maybe he _wouldn’t be_ anymore.)

 

He’d learned that androids weren’t all fucking useless, and that they were people. He’d learned how to patch them up when they bled blue. He’d learned that sometimes eating healthy food wouldn’t kill him, and that it could also taste good, which he was never going to admit. He’d learned that bars were more fun when you went with someone else and could remember it the next day. He’d learned that maybe the only thing better than paper books was sharing them with people you wanted to read them. He’d learned that winters in Detroit were always gonna be hell, but it helped when you had an android who’d shovel the driveway for you.

He’d learned that apparently androids could be autistic, which was… well, frankly it was a surprise to everyone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Why do you do that thing with the coin?” Hank asked Connor. They were in the car, maybe two weeks after the revolution. They were headed grocery shopping, because Connor wanted to try his hand at cooking, and Hank sure as hell wasn’t going to let him do that alone. This way he’d at least have one hand on the metaphorical wheel.

 

“It’s a calibration exercise,” Connor replied. He didn’t stop playing with it.

“You’ve said that before. It doesn’t explain why you do all the fancy tricks when you’re bored, or stressed.”

“Why would you assume I’m stressed?” Connor asked.

“You keep forgetting you’ve basically got a mood ring on your face. You might not have your stress level displayed in numbers, but it’s pretty easy to tell when you’re anxious.”

“Anxiety is a human emotion.”

“Yeah, and what do you think you are?”

 

Connor didn’t respond to that, just glanced down at the coin in his lap. He’d stopped fiddling with it.

 

“I mean, I don’t mind it,” Hank continued. “Wouldn’t mind learning some of those tricks myself. Was just wondering.” He smirked. “In fact, if you wanted something else to play with, there was something that was pretty popular when I was… oh 30 or so? I think I might still have one. I’ll look when we get home.”

Connor tilted his head, but didn’t ask. The coin disappeared back into his pocket.

Hank didn’t push it.

 

It might have been a mistake to go shopping midafternoon, at one of the few grocery stores that were currently open in Detroit. The place was crowded.

Of course, Hank had to work during the week, and even if Connor wasn’t currently employed, Hank wasn’t letting him go shopping on his own. Not just because he might end up buying only weird vegetables, but also because it wasn’t safe.

 

No, he’d have to manage, despite how much he disliked people. Between him and Connor, the trip shouldn’t take that long.

He glanced next to him. Connor looked almost frozen, staring at the crowds.

“You okay?”

Connor startled. “Yes. I was simply unprepared for this level of activity.”

He set off towards the produce instead of waiting for Hank’s response.

 

Hank sighed and followed. He probably wasn’t going to lose him, the LED on his temple still making him easy to identify among humans and androids who’d removed theirs, but Connor had also started wearing one of Hank’s old jackets as the temperatures dropped. And, Hank figured, as a sign that he didn’t belong to anyone anymore.

 

He grabbed a basket, because Connor hadn’t, and followed him around the store, accepting the offered leafy vegetables without much complaint, and only a few additions of his own. The crowds were uncomfortable, with more than a few people bumping into him or Connor. They usually apologized to him, but rarely to Connor, only if they were on the side where they couldn’t see his LED.

The revolution might have happened, but things certainly didn’t change overnight.

 

Connor also seemed more agitated as time went on, his LED remaining yellow, an occasional flash of red. His hands made motions like they were trying to do something, but the coin didn’t make a reappearance, and Hank regretted what he’d said on the ride over, if only because it meant Connor wasn’t using his coping method now.

 

The next time someone so much as brushed up against Connor, he visibly winced, shoulders rising to his ears, LED flashing red.

 

“I think we have everything we need I would like to go home now,” Connor managed to say before turning on his heel and heading towards the exit, dodging in between people. Hank half suspected he’d be jumping over shelves and diving in between legs if it would help.

 

Hank followed a bit slower, his progress impeded by the basket he was hauling behind him.

He used the automatic checkout, which he still hated, damn machines beeping at him and telling him to load his bags up, but it was faster, and allowed him to follow where he hoped Connor had gone.

 

Sure enough, Connor was leaning against the car, LED still spinning yellow. The coin had made a reappearance, and Connor was nervously fiddling with it.

 

“I apologize for leaving you in there. The store was very crowded, and my systems had a hard time compensating.”

“Kinda looked like a panic attack. Can androids get those?”

Connor frowned at him.

“Or just that you were overwhelmed. Whichever.”

“My programming-“

“Could never account for a busy grocery store,” Hank cut him off. “You’re what, supposed to be extra perceptive so you can take in all the information at crime scenes, right? I’m guessing your programming isn’t good at differentiating between a crime scene and a crowded grocery store.”

“Well, no,” Connor admitted. “I was overwhelmed by the sensory input that I couldn’t process.”

“It’s fine. We got what we needed and we just won’t go grocery shopping in the middle of the day again.”

 

Connor didn’t look up at him as they packed the groceries in the car and headed back home.

 

After the groceries were packed away, and Connor was chilling underneath Sumo (the lump loved laying on him), Hank headed to the garage and dug through the boxes under he found what he was looking for.

 

“Heads up kid,” Hank warned, and it was all Connor needed to catch the object out of midair as Hank threw it at him.

Connor examined it quizzically.

“Look up fidget spinners,” Hank suggested, and headed to the kitchen to find something for dinner that didn’t contain spinach.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Connor seemed fine the next day, and certainly unlikely to mention the incident, but the fidget spinner did seem to take up residence in his pocket along with the coin.

 

Hank got home from work that Monday to find Connor underneath Sumo again, who appeared to be sleeping while Connor watched cartoons from the floor.

 

“Why do you let him lay on you like that?” Hank asked, kicking his shoes into the closet.

“He likes it.”

“Yeah, okay, but do you?”

Connor considered it. “He’s warm.”

“You can maintain your own body temperature.”

“I suppose… the pressure is nice. He’s heavy. A little bit overweight, possibly, but I enjoy the sensation of his body pressed against mine. It’s…” Connor took a minute to search for the word, and Hank didn’t pressure him.

“Soothing,” he said finally. “At times, the sensors in my skin, or what appears to be my skin anyway, can misinterpret signals. The fabric of my jacket will register as abrasive, despite it not being that way, or light touches may be interpreted as painful. The heavy pressure seems to help reset those pathways and prevents the misinterpretation of signals.”

“Huh,” Hank considered. “You know, they make blankets that do that.”

“But I have Sumo,” Connor said simply.

Hank shrugged. That was fair enough.

 

“Hey, where’s Perry?” the characters on the screen said.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“So what do you do when I’m at work?” Hank asked over a plate of stir fry a few weeks later. It wasn’t terrible, despite the number of vegetables in it. Connor’s cooking had gotten better, after some disastrous earlier attempts that were not remotely edible.

“Well, until you leave at approximately 9am, I assume you know what happens. From 9 to 10, Sumo and I go on a W-A-L-K. Then we return home and I brush and feed him. At 10:30 I leave to visit Markus and the others at New Jericho and assist them with whatever they need. I leave there at 3, and when I get back, Sumo and I go on another W-A-L-K until about 4:30, at which point we usually return home and watch tv until you arrive. Depending on when you get home, sometimes I make dinner. After that, you’re here, so I likely don’t need to tell you what I do during that time.”

“You do that every day?” Hank asked, shoving a spear of carrot in his mouth.

“Usually. Some days Markus doesn’t need me, and I’ll spend more time here, cleaning, reading, or doing other things.”

“Why do you have it so scheduled?”

Connor paused. “I no longer have objectives, or missions. I don’t even have work, at least, until I can be reinstated in the DPD, or otherwise employed. This gives my days a sense of purpose.”

“Okay. And what would happen if… oh I don’t know, I came home early, or Sumo didn’t want to do… that thing, or you did have work?”

Connor frowned. “Those scenarios are unlikely, and thus I do not foresee them happening, but in the event that they do, I have contingency plans…”

He trailed off as Hank held up a badge. Not his own, which was already sitting on the table, but one for Connor.

“Really?” he asked.

Hank nodded. “Paperwork finished going through today. Fowler is desperate for hands, since a bunch of the force evacuated, and he knows that you’re good at this.”

Connor took the badge, stared at it for a moment, then jumped up and down before taking off into the house. “Look Sumo! Look! I’m a real detective now!”

Hank watched as Connor ran back and forth down the hallway, stopping to show Sumo his badge every time he turned around in the living room.

He smirked, spearing another carrot and shoving it in his mouth.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Connor’s first day at work as an official detective began godforsakingly early as Connor knocked on his bedroom door to wake up him.

 

“Good morning Lieutenant. Given your morning routine and the number of times you press snooze on your alarm clock, you should be getting up in the next ten minutes if we want to make it to work on time.”

Hank groaned and shoved his head under his pillow.

 

Connor came back a few minutes later.

“Good morning Lieutenant. I hope you are still conscious from my earlier reminder. You need to be getting up in the next five minutes if we are to make it to work on time. At the end of this time, if you have not gotten up, I will enter your room and open the curtains.”

 

Hank muttered something into the pillow that was probably _fucking androids,_ but even he wasn’t sure as it was coming out of his mouth.

 

“Additionally, I have coffee and waffles prepared for you.”

Well shit. Why didn’t he start with that?

 

Hank dragged himself out of bed and opened the bedroom door, wincing in the morning light. Connor and Sumo were both in the kitchen, Connor already dressed (or maybe he slept in those? Did he sleep? God Hank couldn’t remember before coffee) and Sumo attempting to coerce Connor into giving him a waffle.

 

“Next time, start with the promise of coffee,” Hank told him.

“I apologize for my methods,” Connor replied, bringing him a plate with two waffles stacked on it. “I simply do not want to be late for my first official day of work.”

Hank grunted at him. “S’alright. Just like the first day of school huh?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been to school,” Connor replied.

Hank sighed and squinted up at him. Connor’s LED seemed to be stuck on yellow. Behind him, spying an opportunity, Sumo grabbed a waffle off the counter and managed to get half of it in his mouth before Hank’s expression must have given him away, because Connor spun around and grabbed the other half away from him.

“No Sumo! You’ve already had your breakfast. This is an inappropriate number of calories for you!”

 

Hank snorted into his coffee and shoved half of one of the waffles into his own mouth.

 

Connor hovered the rest of the morning, unsure of what to do with himself. He didn’t want Sumo to lay on him and get his clothes furry, but he kept patting him on the head, as if Sumo might forget that he was loved.

Hank struggled into clothes as the caffeine kicked in, gave the sticky note about shaving a second’s glance before deciding against it, and was at the door ready to go around the same time that Connor looked like he was about to vibrate out of his skin, or whatever it was.

 

“Not sure why today is such a big deal,” Hank told him while they were backing out of the driveway. “You’ve worked there before.”

“As an android sent by CyberLife,” Connor replied, and Hank had a flashback of all the times Connor introduced himself like that. Every damn time.

“This time I am there as an employee. A detective. As my own person. I want to make a good impression, because I am the first of my kind to be employed in this way. Perhaps after I am employed as a detective, some of the other police androids could be hired again, or androids who were not meant for police work could find employment in law enforcement. But as the first, I have a responsibility to make a good impression to ensure it is easier for others to follow.”

Hank glanced at him. Connor’s LED was reflected in the window, still on yellow.

“Sounds like a lot of pressure for you,” he commented.

“Perhaps. But it is the least I can do.” He hesitated. “I have a lot to atone for.”

Hank snorted. “Don’t give me that bullshit. You’ve got nothing to make up for.”

Connor didn’t reply, but his fingers disappeared inside his jacket and returned with a coin.

“Perhaps,” he said finally. “But I still feel… like I owe them something. I have regrets.”

“We all do. And that feeling, it’s called guilt. And believe me, I know better than most that it eats you up inside.”

In the reflection, Connor flashed red for a moment.

 

* * *

 

“The desk you used before is open, but so are a lot of others. You can pick whichever one you want.”

“Why would I want a different desk?” Connor asked.

Hank shrugged. “So you didn’t have to stare at my face all day?”

“If I’m staring at you it would be difficult to accomplish my work. The position of the chair and the computer monitor do not allow for a clear line of sight unless I choose not to look at the monitor, which defeats the purpose-”

“Yeah okay, I get it.”

 

Connor sat down across from Hank, the desk stark in comparison to Hank’s, which was covered in paperwork and assorted junk. The stickers were still there staring at him, although he’d gotten rid of a few of the worst ones. Hell, he even had a plant now, some cactus that wasn’t really prickly, just sort of ugly looking. It would be hard to kill, but Hank had confidence he’d manage to before long.

 

Connor placed the coin on his desk and turned on the computer.

After a moment, he also placed the spinner on the desk too, giving it a light nudge, and it spun around lazily a few times.

 

Unfortunately, that was when Reed showed up.

“Holy shit, is that a fidget spinner?”

Somehow he managed to grab it off the desk faster than Connor could stop him. He didn’t make a move to get up, just tilted his head and waited to see what would happen.

“Man, these things were popular when I was in high school. What are you doing with one?”

“Lieutenant Anderson gave it to me,” Connor replied.

Reed snorted, spinning it between his fingers. “Right, cause a plastic detective has a need for something like this.”

“Is there a reason you’re over here Reed, or can we get back to work?” Hank asked pointedly.

“What, and not greet Mr Robot here on his first day? That would be _rude,_ ” Reed said, mock horror in his voice.

He tossed the fidget spinner back to Connor, who caught it, of course.

“Have fun with your fucking toy.” He glanced at Hank. “That goes for both of you.”

He sauntered off.

 

Connor sat there for a moment considering it, LED on yellow.

“Lieutenant, I believe he was referring to me as a ‘toy’ of yours rather than a partner.”

Hank sighed. “Yeah. He’s a dick. Ignore him. But you work here now, and have rights and all that shit, so if he harasses you, make sure you tell someone.”

Connor’s LED stayed on yellow for a few more seconds before cycling back to blue. “Understood.”

He returned his attention to the computer, but the spinner didn’t make a reappearance.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day was fine. Connor prompted Hank to leave for lunch at noon, and prompted him to be back by 1pm. At 5pm, Connor announced that their work day was over, and since there was nothing pressing for them to focus on, they should return home to Sumo.

 

Hank could have set his watch by that kid. Funny how he had a routine set on his first day back. Hank wondered what would happen if they had a case, if they were in an interrogation at noon, if they needed to stay late.

 

He figured that Connor would prioritize the job over his need for a routine, since he’d given up on his previous routine in a matter of moments when he learned he was getting hired.

 

* * *

 

When they got home from work, Sumo was overjoyed to see them, practically knocking Connor over in his excitement.

“Oh I see how it is,” Hank grumbled.

“He knows who takes him for walks,” Connor replied, and at the mention of a walk, Sumo grew twice as frenzied. “I suppose that was my own fault,” Connor said to Sumo. “Let me get the leash.”

He looked up at Hank. “Would you like to join us?”

Hank shook his head. “Nah, I’ll find something for dinner. You two have fun.”

 

As soon as Connor got the leash clipped on, Sumo dragged him out the door, and Hank watched them go a ways down the street before closing it after them. He headed to the fridge, bypassing the spinach, and pulling out leftovers from the night before. Stir fry was surprisingly good, which he would never admit to Connor, except maybe under oath.

 

He was a bit worried about work though. What if something like the grocery store happened while on a case? What if something happened because Connor misinterpreted a tone of voice, an implication of sarcasm, an unfamiliar phrase?

Jesus, Hank should not be having to worry about a kid again, yet there he was.

 

He probably needed to bring up the possibility of Connor being autistic, but hell if he was going to do it directly. Hank was not good with emotions, and that conversation would undoubtedly involve many, _many_ emotions.

He’d rather get shot. (Probably. It depended on where he got shot.)

 

No, he’d have to come up with something else. A book? A casual mention of it in a conversation? Maybe a movie? Connor did seem to like movies. For obvious reasons, he wasn’t fond of ones with robots or artificial intelligence, since they were frequently framed as the enemy or villain, but he did like some of the superhero movies that were common when Hank was in his 30s, and Hank had enjoyed rewatching them, despite Connor’s running commentary on the improbabilities.

 

Hank just had to find a movie that didn’t have an extremely shitty representation of an autistic character, which was honestly harder than it should have been. Most autistic characters were diagnostic criteria personified, which consequently did not make for good storytelling.

Unless he went for a movie that didn’t have an explicitly autistic character, but one that was heavily implied. Connor did like asking questions about plot points and characterization, so maybe it would spark a conversation.

 

Hank pulled the stir fry out of the microwave and headed to the garage to see if he had the movie on a DVD, or if he’d need to find a digital copy.

 

* * *

 

Connor and Sumo arrived back precisely 45 minutes after they left, and Hank had finished the stir fry leftovers and located a DVD of the movie by then.

 

“Hey. Get settled in cause we’re gonna watch a movie. And I don’t want you watching the whole thing in your head or reading about it beforehand, cause it ruins all the fun. Just sit,” he ordered.

Connor sat. Sumo immediately jumped up in between them.

“What are we watching?”

“Disney classic.”

 

Connor hummed, but didn’t ask for further details as the title sequence began to play.

 

He did ask questions though. A lot of questions.

 

 

“How old is this little girl that she’s swimming in the ocean on her own?”

“Uh, six or seven? She probably shouldn’t be, but can you just suspend your disbelief for a little while? The movie has already established aliens, so really, anywhere it goes from there is believable.”

Connor didn’t say anything else, which Hank took as agreement.

 

 

“Why is Thursday sandwich day? Why does she feed this fish that she believes controls the weather?”

Hank sighed. “To appease him I guess?”

“Why Thursday?”

“Hell if I know.”

 

 

“That one girl called her crazy, Lilo bit her, and now she thinks they’re friends?”

Hank glanced over at him. “Well, yeah. Lilo’s not so good with reading social situations.”

 

 

“Was that an attempt at a smile?”

“Didn’t go well, did it? Kinda reminds me of your face sometimes.”

 

 

“Practical voodoo seems somewhat advanced for her age.”

“Eh, at least she’s reading.”

 

 

“She has noticed that people treat her differently. Is this because of the presumable loss of her parents?”

Hank shrugged. “Like you’ve noted, she’s an unusual kid.”

 

 

“She has a lot of pictures of tourists with ice cream cones,” Connor noted.

Hank shrugged. “An interest of hers.”

Connor reached out and grabbed the remote to pause the movie. He sat for a moment, LED spinning yellow.

“Is Lilo what would be considered a typical six year old child?”

“I mean, she’s fictional, but even then, probably not. Her behaviour could be a result of the trauma she experienced, but some other people think she’s autistic. It’s never stated in the movie, but it’s pretty believable.”

Connor tilted his head, but played the movie without responding.

 

There were much fewer questions after that. Hank supposed he’d given Connor something to ponder over.

 

 

“Ohana means family. Family means no one gets left behind. But if you want to leave, you can. I'll remember you though.” Lilo looked at the family photo. “I remember everyone that leaves.”

 

Hank snuck a glance at Connor, who had his feet tucked up underneath him on the couch, Sumo sprawled across the space in between them, his head resting on Connor’s lap. His eyes looked wet. Hank didn’t even know if Connor could cry, but he suspected if he was able to, he would be.

Hank didn’t mention it.

 

 

After the credits, Hank turned off the tv.

 

 

“Enjoy it?”

“Yes,” Connor said simply.

“What, no other comments?”

Connor didn’t reply. In the reflection of the darkened tv, Hank could see the yellow light of his LED.

“Whatcha thinking?” Hank asked.

“I think…” Connor began. He frowned. “I think that I’m a lot like Lilo in some ways. I have also done some preliminary research on the topic of autism, and there are also a lot of similarities there. I think… I think that I might be autistic.”

 

Hank hummed. “Yeah, probably,” he admitted.

Connor looked up at him, considering. “You’ve suspected,” he said slowly.

Hank shrugged. “Yeah. I spend a lot of time with you.”

Connor frowned. “But you didn’t say anything?”

“Listen, you’re still getting a handle on having emotions and trying to figure out how to be a person, and I sure as hell didn’t want to throw anything else on top. Besides, I knew how you’d be about it, spouting something about your programming, blah blah. You needed to come to this conclusion on your own, without me pushing you into it.”

“You chose this movie on purpose, didn’t you?”

Hank shrugged. “It’s a good movie. And a good way to introduce you to an autistic character that isn’t portrayed horribly.”

Connor examined Hank for a moment. “Why do you know so much about this?”

“What, I can’t just know things?” Hank grumbled.

Seeing Connor’s look of disbelief, Hank shook his head. “Fine. Uh, one of Cole’s friends, his best friend probably, was autistic. Smart kid, loved puzzles, could tell you anything you ever wanted to know about sharks, but even at that age, kids could recognize he was different. Cole didn’t notice, or maybe he just didn’t care. But there were enough playdates that I learned some things. And then kept learning.” Hank shook his head. “Spencer, that’s his name, he took Cole’s death real rough. Came to the funeral, but didn’t make it through. Just shut down. Later I found out that he insisted on coming, even though his mom tried to talk him out of it.” He dragged a hand down his face. “Shit, I don’t even know if kids that age have a good grasp on what death means. I don’t know if he understood what it meant.” He shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter,” he decided. “But I know what autism looks like, had been around it enough. Just cause it was a while ago doesn’t mean that I didn’t recognize it again when you sauntered your way into my life. At first I thought it was programming, android shit, you know, not understanding sarcasm or whatever, but other androids seemed to have a grasp on that stuff. Dunno. Then I guess after you deviated, it was easier to understand.” He shrugged. “Little things. The coin, Sumo laying on you, sensitivity to noise, problems understanding sarcasm or certain phrases, your reaction in crowded places, the routines you set up.” He shrugged. “Guess I was right, huh?” he said, smiling a little as he looked at Connor.

And Connor smiled back, a real one, not the fake one that he often plastered on his face much like Lilo.

“You are an excellent detective,” Connor agreed.

Hank laughed. “Man, next movie night we’re watching The Great Mouse Detective. I loved that shit when I was a kid. Don’t you dare look it up.”

Connor looked away guiltily, and Hank only sighed.

 

  

* * *

 

 

There were things Hank knew.

 

He knew how to solve crimes and puzzles. He knew that grocery shopping in the middle of the day on a weekend would stress Connor out. He knew that Reed definitely had a fidget spinner in high school and probably did tricks with it. He knew that Connor liked deep pressure when he was stressed out. He knew that shortly after he moved in, Connor read the paperbacks in the house while Hank was at work, even though he could have just downloaded them directly into his head. He knew that Connor preferred jazz over heavy metal and rap, although he was still deciding about classical. He knew that spinach still tasted awful, but sometimes salad was okay. He knew that Connor was basically part of his family now, that he’d sort of brought an android home like a stray and let him stay and now he was essentially Hank’s adopted son, just without the paperwork making it official.

 

Hank also knew that said android was probably autistic, if androids could even be diagnosed as such, but it didn’t really matter if he was diagnosed or not. The understanding made most of the difference. The knowing.

And Hank also knew that he’d do whatever it took to make sure Connor was accommodated, at work, at Jericho, wherever they went, even if he had to fight like hell to do it.

 

He always did enjoy a nice fight, when it was for the right reasons.


End file.
